I have a friend whom I miss dearly. Such a long time has passed. Too many things going on.
This evening, I see her in the milonga. Radiant. I dance a tanda with her and it was marvelous. The evening continues and many tandas pass—Neither of us are able to catch up.
The evening draws to a close, and we have said our goodbyes. Dancing shoes turn into street shoes. Coats are donned, as we are all dressed to go our separate ways into the cold, wet Seattle night.
The last song of the tanda comes. One parting look at my friend as the music blares. We dance in the small space in between chairs, tables, and amidst people ready to leave—fully clothed in cold weather street attire.
One beautiful song, one last beautiful tango, one beautiful friend, one last dance goodbye.